“Not exactly,” X'on said. The color was coming back to his voice. “Though I take it you've never been.”
“I haven't, no,” Ven said. Conversation was good, conversation kept the big nerd awake. Which kept the big nerd alive. “Prevailing thought among the Guild was, they were so busy killing each other that no one would pay just to have a single dwarf bumped off or arrested, so we never bothered.”
“I see,” X'on said. “You have more to learn of your dwarvish brethren, my friend. It is my hope to educate you. In the future, should we have one.” He grunted at his own joke. It wasn't a laugh, but it was something. “Now, let me sleep. We'll discuss this more on the morrow.”
“I don't think that's a great idea, big guy.”
“I know what you are doing, Ven, and I thank you. But I will be fine. I'm just very, very tired, and my head is an agony. They left me the lid, so I can close my eyes to it, but I would like to try to sleep, even a little, before the torments of tomorrow begin.”
Ven sighed. “If you think you're up for it.”
“I do. Though I would ask you, my friend, for yet another favor.”
“I'm sure you haven't noticed, but I'm chained to the ceiling here. Not a lot of favors I can grant from this position.”
“Sing for me, Ven. Sing Lath'shian for me.”
“Uh,” he said. “Why? Without the book, you can't understand what I'm saying, can you?”
“My Book, my Book,” he sighed. “Beauty speaks without words, Ven. Please. It would comfort me.”
Ven considered for a moment. What harm can it do?
“All right,” he said.
So he sang of his father, and how the gentle old man had grown up. He sang of his first kill, and of his lost love. He sang of his time on the streets, working cons and sniping petty contracts while he learned the trade. He sang the story of Lath'shia, the goddess whose voice was so melodic, the very stones awoke to hear her; of how she stole a pebble from the garden of her king, Loth Soren, and used it to shape the world; of how her voice drew the first gargoyles from the mountainside and gave them life. He sang the stories of his people he'd heard as a hatchling, and when he was done, he made a few up. He sang until his throat was raw and his voice was hoarse. And when he fell silent, he heard X'on's gentle snore… a sound rare to his ears, since X'on had always been so accommodating to Ven's own travel needs. His friend was at peace, for the moment. He rested his head back against the wall, and tried to find peace of his own.
Chapter 8
It seemed like they'd just fallen asleep when the hurt began anew. X'on was again dragged out of the cell block, launching epithets all the while, and Ven was set upon by what he assumed was the same pair of giants who had attended him before. The only difference between the new festivities and those of the night's prior was the notable absence of the Elvish woman. Instead of questions, Ven was just subjected to the lightning torture over and over. The Giants ripped his already torn tunic from his body; without words, they began pressing the sopping cloth and tongs to his bare skin by turns. As soon as he finished screaming from the last application, the other giant would find some new, unmolested area to brand. After hours of this, the pair packed up their equipment and left the cell. No question was put to Ven; no statement; no threat. Just pain. Constant, contiguous pain.
X'on returned hours later, fresh splotches of purplish-blue mixed with the fading brown-green wounds from before. It looked like either himself or his captors had fashioned a blindfold for him out of a piece of his tunic; that was a small mercy, at least. Ven gurgled blood by way of a greeting. X'on spat out a bit of his own in response. After that, there wasn't a lot left to say.
*
When the giants returned to his dungeon for a third round, Ven was feeling obnoxious.
“Hey, guys, how's it hanging? Joke. So I was thinking, maybe we work on the lower abdominals today? I seem to have become constipated, and all the shaking and convulsions should loosen things up, right? Wouldn't you agree? Seriously, I'm asking.”
Instead of a response, the first giant lit a torch, which took on the appearance of an oversized match in its fingers, and slid it into a sconce on the wall behind Ven. The second pulled a rusted lever to the side of the door. The chain restraining him fell slack; Ven followed it, crumpling to the straw-matted floor in a heap. After a moment, his arms fell forward, gravity doing what numbed muscles could not. He shouted a curse as feeling began to burn a path back into his appendages.
"I have to say, the service here sucks," Ven growled to his oversized captor. The giant returned his glare with glassy silence. After a few heartbeats, Ven heard light footsteps coming down the passageway outside.
It was the Elf, this time carrying a large, silver tray. From beneath its lid came an assault of smells, deeply red and warm and delicious, tying Ven's empty stomach in knots.
"Ven," the Elf said in a pale imitation of warmth. She'd painted on even more glamour today, the stink of rotting pig-meat tainting the harsh beauty of her elegance.
Ven looked up at her, saying nothing. Don't wretch don't wretch don't wretch stop thinking of bacon it'snotdoingyouanyfavorsdon'twretch....
“The fabled Tanith Ven,” she continued. “We have verified this one's identification among the other's possessions. Why did this one not tell us who he was?”
Ven smirked. “Would you have believed me if I'd just said so?”
“No.” Her voice was syrup. “We would like to apologize.”
Okay, thought Ven. That's new.
“This one did a service for a member of our own barony. This one is a welcome guest in the estates of Val Do'qualist. Please. Eat. Rest. Once this one has recovered, this one will be moved to our guest rooms. Tomorrow, we can begin anew.”
Is that a threat or a promise was the thought that crossed Ven's mind. “Thank you” were the words that came out of his mouth.
With a snap of her fingers, the Elf collected her enforcers and, with a final lingering smile, took her leave.
As soon as the door had swung shut, Ven began to push the straw beneath him aside. He thought he could smell… ah ha, yes, there were pebbles in the dirt floor. Ven dug up a handful, rubbed the gunk off as best he could, and popped them into his mouth, crunching thoughtfully.
Sometimes being a silicate-based species had its advantages.
Ven took a deep breath, trying to clear his head; he was digging for another handful and trying to ignore the lingering pig stench when he heard shuffling off to his left. It took him a moment to realize that they'd left X'on in the cell as well. That made things even more confusing. Why would they leave both captives together, alone and relatively unharmed? They had to know he and X'on would compare notes, maybe even try to work out an escape plan?
Unless, of course, the Elf was not worried about that being an issue.
X'on was pushing himself up into a sitting position, groaning softly to himself as he did so. He sniffed, a loud, dusty sound, and started pawing blindly for the platter that had been left behind.
“Don't bother,” Ven said. “The whole plate's been glamoured. Even money says one bite in and you'd be enchanted to her bitchiness out there. Be her willing slave. And not in a good way.” He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall; it still hurt to talk.
X'on groaned again. “How can you tell, my friend?” His voice was sandpaper, and stained with disappointment.
Ven tapped his nose before he could stop himself, then added, “I can smell it. Pretty much reeks of the stuff.”
“Ah,” X'on replied. “I… I see. Or more appropriately, I understand.”
“Hey, gallows humor. That's a good sign, right?”
X'on ignored the jest. Ven didn't blame him. “That's twice I owe you,” he said.
“Don't worry about it,” Ven said. “So… you notice anything different?”
“Like the fact that I'm not being hit repeatedly?” Beneath his blindfold, X'on managed a sickly grin. His teeth were smudged a pinkis
h red, and his nose was badly out of joint. “Or that we're being allowed to hold a conversation?”
“Well, I was referring to the latter, but yeah,” Ven said. He popped a jagged bit of quartz into his beak before continuing, “I can't tell if they want us to discuss how helpless we are or if they want to watch us try something and fail.”
X'on leaned against the wall opposite Ven and let out a long, pent-up breath. “It could be that. Or it could be that something has changed. So what is different? Why the sudden shift in tactics?”
Ven didn't answer for a long time. Then he said, “The baroness found out who I was. Who I am, I guess.”
X'on tilted his head, quizzical, bird-like. “And who are you to her, Ven?”
Ven eyed the small pile of stones he'd gathered for the rest of his meal, but ate no more. He was no longer hungry. “Do you know how many Elves there are in Taal'anquor? The whole country?”
“I do not. The Elves control the census, and they've never bothered to publish the data pertaining to themselves.”
“Well, there's less than a hundred, I can tell you that for a fact. Plus a few dozen operating throughout the Known Lands, working as city magistrates or whatever. There's maybe, and this is stretching it, maybe a thousand in total. Everywhere. Anywhere. And the only thing they crave more than power is solitude. They'll work together for a common goal, but they can't really stand each other. That's why the most important ones stay here, on what is essentially just a big island off the coast of the Known Lands. With the exception of Ay'ladii, and don't get me started on that mess, they have it to themselves.
“But anyway. Power. Elves and power. Always at the top of the political food chain, or near enough as it makes no difference. A finger in every pie, enough control to tip the scales in their favor, no matter where or who opposes them. I would be surprised if there's another Elf in this barony, much less this castle. That's the kind of power, the kind of silence, fear buys you.
“And to make sure you maintain that power, they needed an… instrument capable of maintaining that fear. Something… someone who could do what's necessary, kill who was necessary, to keep you and your kind on top.” He closed his eyes, rested his head against the stone wall to his back. His throat burned, as did the corners of his eyes. He'd never wanted a drink more in his life.
Nobody spoke for a handful of heartbeats. Then X'on asked, “And was it fear that drove you? To become such a thing?”
Ven shook his head. He knew it was a useless gesture, but he couldn't help it. “I was too stupid to be afraid. I was young, and a damn good Hunter, and I was okay with killing when the job required. I thought I was smarter than them, that I could play them off one another. Take advantage of their paranoia and turn it against them. I thought, no matter what they did to me, I could come out on top. I thought… I thought I could set my conscience aside.”
“To what end?” X'on asked. He was very still, now. His breathing was deep and regular, but he didn't sound angry. He didn't sound anything. That scared Ven a bit.
He shrugged. “I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking, I was playing. It was all a game. Just one where the losers didn't get a rematch.” He closed his eyes to the tears that had started to collect there and said, “I was a wetworks operative for four years. An assassin.” There. He’d said it. “Figured out how to kill all manner of personage, which was a real boon to my current career. Until my last job.
“I was to kill a lineage. As in, wipe out an Elvish bloodline that would have come to threaten some baron or other.” He paused, searching for the words; found himself selecting the most blunt. The most honest. “I killed the kids.” He let out a soft, dry sigh. “Took out the grandparents first. They lived the furthest away. Make it look like natural causes. Then a great uncle over in Ro'Quall. It was ruled a suicide, though anybody who was anybody knew it was me. See? I had a reputation, too. I had power over the powerful.”
After a breath of silence, he continued. “There were six cousins, dotted around Taal'anquor and Gedeva. Did one a month, just to keep everyone off balance. Two brothers and a sister on one side, four brothers on the other.
“Then the time came.... Mom and Dad were on separate ends of their castle. Even together, raising a family, Elves don't want to spend more time near each other than they have too. That was tricky, taking one out and getting to the other before some giant discovered the body. But I was good at my job. Then, the children. Five boys, six girls. Set of twins. Oldest was twelve, youngest still in the crib. It was like they were breeding an army. But I did… I did what I was under orders to do.
“Then I went to the wine cellar and drank until I passed out.
“Their giants should have killed me. They would have, if they'd thought to check the cellar. But they didn't, and I woke up the next night sober. So I left. I went back to the patron who'd commissioned the hit, showed him my proof of death, and left. Left the elves, left Taa'lanquor, left all of it. Went to the first Guild house I could find and asked to be reinstated. Then I took the money I'd earned from my last job and drank until there wasn't anything left to drink.”
X'on’s voice, when he spoke, was stone. “What was the proof of death?'
Ven snorted. “Signet ring. Of course. Have you ever known any Lord or Lady who would want anything else?”
X'on was quiet for a very long time. Ven didn't blame him. When he opened his mouth again, it sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Putting that aside for the moment. This Elf knows who you are. Do you believe she will seek retribution for your defection?”
“I don't know,” Ven confessed. “I don't think so. I never signed a contract. Everything I did was freelance. I didn't get paid until a job was completed, so there was nothing lost except my services. “X'on....” he couldn't think of a way to finish that sentence.
“Putting that aside,” X'on repeated. “For the moment. We will discuss this, I assure you. But for now we will focus on our current predicament. Agreed?”
Ven wiped hard at his eyes. “Okay. Right.” Put it aside. Put it back in the box. He glanced at the tray of glamoured food. “If she's trying to slip us a mickey, she either wants to bring me back in or she knows someone who's got a bone to pick with me. Damn it!” he screamed, in both frustration and pain. “I was hoping maybe, if I could get them to contact the Guild, we could work out some kind of, I don't know, an exchange or something. But if she sees me as something worth keeping around…” he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.
X'on whispered, “If I could just get my Book....”
“Your Book!” Ven exploded. “I cannot tell you how sick I am of hearing about that book! What can that damned book do for us here? Now?”
“Listen,” X'on said, the edge still in his voice. “There is something you need to know. And with that knowledge, we can not only escape, but strike a vicious blow against the tyrants who roust in this land. Enact real change against your former employers. Will you pay attention?”
Ven pinched the bridge between his nostrils before answering, fighting off a dull thud that had started behind his eyes. “Okay. I'm desperate. Hit me. Figuratively speaking.”
“There is history here that even you cannot imagine,” X'on began. “The Elves are not native to this place.”
“You mean Taal'anquor?” Ven interrupted. “I knew that.”
“I mean this plane of existence,” X'on said. “They invaded. Shortly after the dragons disappeared. Or so I have read.” Ven started to speak, but was cut off. “There are libraries that even the Elves have not managed to purge. They may have a stranglehold on the present, but the tide of history can never be truly dammed.
“As I was saying, they established a foothold here, in Taal'anquor, by stepping on the necks of the area's native children.”
“What, the giants?” The giants had always been slaves, as far as he'd known; Ven had just assumed they'd been bred for labor. He'd almost never seen a giant outside of the c
ompany of it's master. Come to think of it, he'd never seen a female giant either. At least, as far as he could tell.
“Just so,” X'on said. “The giants, the most loyal servants of the Lords and Ladies, are the true owners of this land. But it has been so long since that initial incursion that all knowledge of its occurrence is buried.”
“Fascinating,” Ven said, though it sounded like he'd just bitten a lemon. Still, it made sense. But how had he never heard anything like this? And why didn't I ever work that out?
“And that helps us how?” he asked aloud, unable to stem the acidity in his tone.
“The Book,” X'on said. “The language of the giants is simple, to put it delicately. You have to understand that a giant's brain is not proportionally sized to its cranium. They are not, as a species, built to process complicated language. So they have no understanding of sarcasm, or innuendo. Or lies.” He laced his fingers together in front of him with an air of satisfaction. “Tell the giants, in their own language, what I have just told you, and centuries of repression will be rectified. Immediately. If luck is with us, we can escape in the chaos.”
There was silence in the dungeon for perhaps a minute. Then Ven managed, “That. That's your grand plan? Are you serious? 'Tell the truth'? I know the big guys are stupid, but do you really think they're that gullible? Not to mention that your whole scheme relies on you having the Book, which you've been so kind to point out is not even in your possession!”
X'on sniffed. “You have a better idea?”
Ven opened his mouth, but the snark died on his tongue. “No. You're right, I don't. I've got nothing. But that doesn't change the fact that we are lacking the key component to all of this, which is....”
“My Book,” X'on sighed. “ I know. Ven, would you believe me if I told you I can sense where my Book is?”
Ven sighed. “Why not? Makes about as much sense as everything else has. Any idea how?”
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